Yes, I Am Hiding

Charlie has been sick for a few days, and shrieking at all hours of the night for a few nights now. I am tired.

No, I am exhausted.

At 6:30 this morning, both Charlie and Cubby were up. I managed to get Charlie to actually eat something--his total food intake for over 24 hours stood at two bites of grilled cheese and four spoonfuls of rice, plus milk--and instructed Cubby to get himself a banana.

When we retired to the living room to play and they both grabbed two animals each to start fighting each other, I decided my presence was really unnecessary.

So I came into the dining room, shut the door behind me, and got another cup of coffee.

That was fifteen minutes ago. Cubby just came into the dining room to inquire about the whereabouts of Daddy and sing irritating nonsense songs.

It's raining and 37 degrees. It's going to be a long day.

Happy Saturday after Thanksgiving! Bah.

Thankful?

Times three.

Happy Thanksgiving, my lovelies. Keep calm and eat pie.

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This morning when I returned from dropping Cubby and Charlie at their respective schools, I found the power was out. Jack was ready for his nap, so I put him down to sleep and then . . . nothing.

Couldn't vacuum. Couldn't start laundry. So many chores are impossible without electricity.

But the woodstove was blazing away perkily and I had a new book I hadn't yet started*. So I sat down by the fire and read until the power came on 45 minutes later.

Then I spent some time flipping breakers and switching around fuses in our ridiculously confusing electrical system, trying to figure out why some of the appliances in the kitchen were working and some weren't.

It was a very nice 45 minutes, though. (And everything is working now.)

* Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, by Helen Simonson. I'm only about fifty pages in, but so far, I approve. The writing's good, anyway.